The Letter
by Satan Abraham
Summary: When they get the letter saying they passed, an array of reactions occur. Happiness, nervousness, 'i'll never be picked.' But they are. Chapter Four - Davidson. Rated T for language.
1. 02 - Abraham

When he gets the letter it's just an ego boost that, to be honest, James Abraham does not need. But he takes it – he grins and, hey, he barely fucking remembers entering, but he'd be physically and mentally fit to participate in the Long Walk.

Even though he's fairly certain he bombed the essay question.

Either that or they like sarcastic pricks who want to try out for the hell of it. There's no way he'll be selected; after all, there are thousands of kids that pass. Two hundred that get chosen. One hundred that actually walk the damn thing. Abraham knows he has absolutely no chance of being picked and revels in his immunity.

He decides to show Elizabeth. Show her that her boyfriend's actually got something; is more than the skinny, ginger bastard that she agreed to go to the movies with.

When he knocks on the door and she answers, she's in her pajamas. Abraham's grin widens. Elizabeth doesn't generally wear much for pajamas and today is no exception. He has to focus on what he came here for.

"Hey," Abraham says, dangling the paper in front of her face. She snatches it from him and skims it once… twice… three times.

"This is a joke, isn't it?" she asks. She's halfway grinning and Abe can tell he's going to have a hell of the time to convince her that, _no, _this is the _real fucking thing. _"Oh my god, I am making a t-shirt out of this."

"Actually, it's real," Abraham says. He leans against the doorframe and looks down at her. "Believe me, I was surprised, too?"

She takes a good, long look at him and bursts out laughing. Abraham is insulted.

"What? Don't think I can do it?" Abraham asks. "Look-"

"James – you're… I mean, you're just not… you're too skinny! And you're funny, but…"

"You think I'm too skinny and too stupid. That's it, right?"

Elizabeth doesn't answer, and Abraham just takes the letter back and stalks off. Fuck her, then. Samuel and Nicholas would understand.

Just like Leah, they burst out laughing at the mere sight of the piece of paper.

"Assholes," Abraham says, cuffing Nicholas on the back of the head because he's closer. "That thing gave me a huge self-confidence boost."

"Like you need it," Samuel points out. His normally fair face is red from laughing. He takes the paper from Abraham and reads it through. "It does look legitimate."

"Elizabeth didn't believe it," Abraham says, more than a little dejected. He can see Nicholas and Samuel roll their eyes at each other. The three boys may have been close, but both Nicholas and Samuel think that Elizabeth is annoying. Or a bitch. Sometimes she's an annoying bitch.

That's all about Abraham can take before he starts hitting people.

The days passed and everyone takes it as a joke. Hey, Abe, you really tweaked the Majors balls, din'tchoo? Soon, Abe begins to take it as a joke, too. He's not going to be picked, anyway.

And then is name is drawn sixteenth out of the drum and he nearly dies. Elizabeth and him have made up by then and she clutches him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"It's a fifty-fifty chance," Abraham says, stroking her hair and letting her shake and cry into his shoulder. This is the first time he's seen her cry and it scares him. Besides, it's not like he'll be a Prime.

Then April 31st comes and he's a Prime.

* * *

**These will probably all be quite short.**

**Also, I've been thinking about putting all of the Long Walk fanfiction I've written and put on Tumblr on here. Thoughts?  
**


	2. 03 - Art Baker

The day he gets his letter is the day he gets back from staying over a friend's house. He knows something is wrong because the house is totally silent. Jason and Michael sit at the kitchen table, picking at their breakfast and staring at the envelope in the middle of the table. Clarisse and Daniel, who are doing last night's dishes, look at Baker as he enters.

"You have mail," Jason informs him. Baker grabs the envelope and tears it open. This is it, this is it, this is _it. _He hopes he's passed – he has a good idea that he has but there's always the chance that he's failed the physical, the mental, or both –

He's passed.

Baker grins and his siblings look on doubtfully. They don't know he's passed and that they'll have the chance to have enough money to live comfortably and that their parents will stop fighting and arguing.

"Well?" Clarisse asks finally. "What is it?"

"I passed," Baker says. "I have a chance."

The next few weeks go by in a sort of blurry haze. Baker goes through his daily routines, maybe making an effort to walk more. His original optimism is gone – thousands of kids pass. He's got a tiny chance of Walking and an even smaller chance of winning.

He has a feeling that, if he doesn't win, he wouldn't have too much of a problem with it. After all, he wants to die. He's completely accepting of the fact that he's going to die.

Art Baker has been interested in death for a long time. When he was seven and people asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up he always said 'mor-ti-shun.' This would usually result in the people patting him on the head, sending his parents an awkward smile, and hurrying away.

Then it's time for the names to be drawn out of the drum. Baker sits on the floor at a friend's house, surrounded by his siblings. Michael, who is the youngest at five, sits on Baker's lap and clutches his arm.

Baker is the fifty-fourth out of the drum.

"You can still drop out," Baker's mother suggests. Baker shakes his head and it's his father who answers.

"He's not dropping out," the man says. Everyone looks at him. "It could solve all of our problems. We'd never be hungry again."

Baker knows he has a fifty-fifty chance of getting in, and even a smaller chance of surviving if he does make it in. This doesn't bother him. He'll either win and get rich or he'll die and it won't matter either way.

He's a Prime.

* * *

**So I lied when I said that I was done with The Long Walk for today.**


	3. 05 - Gary Barkovitch

He runs.

He ducks out of sight because he knows they're looking for him because _damn it_, he pissed them off again and he doesn't even know how he does it, he just does. He skips the bus and decides to just run home, because if he does end up getting in The Long Walk he'll need the practice anyway and plus, some of them ride the bus and even though he has his switchblade it would be better to ignore them.

He checks the mail right outside his house, and, yep, there's the letter saying he passed. He's relieved – he's passed the first test. The next two are just luck – getting your name drawn and being a Prime. It's said that the order that your name's drawn in doesn't play a role in whether you're a Prime or not, but Gary Barkovitch suspects that it is.

He has his Plan, he has his letter, now all he needs is his name drawn and to be a Prime.

When his parents get home, he disappears upstairs. He ate after school; he doesn't feel like eating with them in the awkward silence. His mother will try to ask questions about school and he won't answer and his father will tell his mother 'For God's sake, leave the boy alone' and then his mother will be sad.

Yeah, it's just better if he stays in his room.

The next day at school, everyone's talking about the letters they got in the mail the day before. They're excited, and because of their excitement, everyone seems to have forgotten about him for the time being. As long as he keeps his mouth shut today and doesn't draw attention to himself, he'll be fine.

Keeping his mouth shut has never been one of Gary Barkovitch's strong points.

Luckily, it's the end of the day when he pisses someone about three times his size off and he manages to escape.

The days until the names are drawn are all the same – Gary Barkovitch annoys somebody, Gary Barkovitch is a prick, Gary Barkovitch pulls out his switchblade and runs away. Unless he doesn't get to it in time. If that happens, Gary Barkovitch gets beat up, Gary Barkovitch's mother freaks out and threatens to call the school, Gary Barkovitch's mother doesn't actually do shit.

His parents are out the night the names are drawn. Gary Barkovitch doesn't think he's going to get picked – the first hundred and fifty go past without his name being pulled out. He's just about given up when, at number one-sixty-six, Gary Barkovitch is one step closer to being a Walker.

April 31st comes, and he's not a Prime, but some kids drop out and he's the sixth backup Walker.

* * *

**it's been a while since i've updated this one, huh**


	4. 08 - Davidson

He fakes it.

Every day, he fakes it. He's attractive, and he hates that. He hates that because he gets it from his mother, and there's nobody Davidson hates more than his mother. His mother, who passed on so many of her stupid traits down to him; his looks, his ability to please, and his nearly unsustainable desire for sexual contact. Girl, boy, teenager, adult, none of it matters to Davidson. He hasn't quite stooped to his mother's left. But somehow, whenever they speak to each other, she makes it sound like he's the lower one. He's lower on the social structure than she is. And she's a _prostitute._

None of it makes sense to Davidson.

But what does make sense to him is The Long Walk. If he signs up, he either Walks and gets away from this shitty existence or he doesn't Walk and dies. And while Davidson is not particularly suicidal, and does have his actual, happy moments, he would rather die than stay where he is now.

It scares him a little to admit it to himself, but it's true. He would rather die than stay with his mother. He's managed to keep the fact that his mother whores herself out on weekends and after her day job is done hidden from people at school; God knew what it would be like if he didn't. He was fairly popular now. He had friends, he had influence. That could all come crashing down. It didn't matter how attractive he was if his mother was something as lowly as a _prostitute._

But none of that was enough to push him over the edge. He managed to last until he was seventeen before entering. After all, it was his last year to try.

And they'd found out.

Davidson didn't know how. But suddenly, things started to crumble at the edges. There were whispers, and not the good kind, either. They were _bad_, and Davidson had no idea what to do. He tried to think back to the good things, tried to pretend that this was _Ohio_, bad things didn't happen in _Ohio_, that was just big places like _New York City_ or _Chicago_ or other cities like that.

He managed to talk himself into that mindset while his friends fell away and his social circle slowly dwindled. Dwindled all the way to him and his partner in Science class, who was only talking to him out of necessity.

But they still didn't say anything. Davidson would feel a lot better about this if there was a confrontation. All of this Cold War stuff was starting to get to his head. He didn't know why, but he often trembled while writing his name down on the tops of his papers, like it wasn't even worthy to be written in Number Two Pencil on top of some shitty History worksheet.

The confrontation came one day while he walked home from school. It was fall, pleasantly crisp outside, and Davidson was enjoying himself. Forgetting himself. Thinking back to the good times and deciding to not remember the bad. Life was easier that way.

Then they started following him.

He recognized all of them. They'd all been his friends, one of them was in the closet - he'd made out with him one day and then promised to keep his secret, and now they were following him. He had no doubt that they'd want to hurt him, if only for their images' sake. It didn't bother him. He'd done the exact same thing.

After many turns and twists, Davidson was eventually backed into an alley. No escape routes.

Well, wasn't this cliche and problematic?

"If it isn't the whore's kid," Cliche Evil Guy One said, taking a step toward him. Davidson stayed loose, arms crossed, trying to keep cool. If he lost his cool he'd lose everything. It's okay, whore's kid, you'll be fine. "You know, bastard, I heard your mom's such a whore she doesn't even know who your dad is. That true? Is there no Daddy Davidson?"

Oh.

He didn't actually...

He hadn't actually expected them to say that. He'd expected the 'whore's kid' and 'bastard' and maybe a little pushing around, but...

It wouldn't have hurt so much if it weren't true.

Davidson had no idea who his father was.

His mother had always said that he didn't need to know, that they didn't need a prick like him to stick around, that she could do it all. He'd never thought about it, and when people asked where his father was, he'd just tell them 'not here.' That usually shut them up. They always assumed that he was dead, or that his parents were divorced.

Now they all knew the truth.

They had pushed him around, blacking his eye, nearly breaking his nose, and bruising several ribs.

Okay, maybe it was a bit more than being 'pushed around.'

He dragged himself home, wiping blood from his face before looking through the mail.

There it was.

There was his letter.

Hell.

Fucking.

Yes.

The night the names were drawn out of the drum, Davidson was nervous. As was his mother, who had taken the night off of her 'second job' to watch with him.

He was the first one out of the drum.

He hadn't actually expected to be drawn at all, and there was...

First out of the drum...

He leaned back with a satisfied smile. He had a good chance of Walking. And if he won... if he won he wouldn't have to deal with these pricks ever again. He could reinvent himself. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

And he would never come back to Ohio again.

But he could be a reserve Walker. Maybe he wasn't a Prime.

The day came, and he was a Prime.

Hell.

Fucking.

Yes.

* * *

**that turned out a bit longer than expected**

**but yeah**

**davidson**


End file.
